To Like, To Want, To Love
by Roxie Zephyr Jocelyn
Summary: WARNING: This is a SLASH fic. Pairing: Draco x Harry. During a dark interlude, Harry is struck with the realization that only from a foe had he found the truth, and only from confusion had he found clarity...


A/N: This is actually an AU character portrait as it deviates from the plot of the Harry Potter canon. Draco has defected to the Light, and this is a small interlude where Harry realizes that even as his world is falling down around him, some good can come from the bad, understanding from the confusion. The fascinating and addictive characters of Harry Potter do not belong to me but to their esteemed creator. With that, ENJOY!

To Like, To Want, To Love

It was late. Harry paced the room, his hands tightly clenched by his sides even as he stole glances at the Muggle clock that hung on the wall. Every tick brought the needle closer to two o'clock in the morning, yet Draco was still no where to be seen. Part of him chided him on his paranoia. They were after all staying at an Order safe house even if it was a Muggle establishment, which meant that they would all be well protected. Not to mention, Draco was late because he was still in the strategy meeting with a few of the other Order members, all of whom were well-equipped to deal with any emergencies. An ironic smile tugged at his lips. And, with Draco being the egoistical Dark Wizard that he was, he would sooner murder an intruder in cold-blood before allowing a single scratch to mar his unblemished skin.

However, no amount of convincing could halt the growing foreboding that wrung Harry's stomach into tight knots, that settled upon his brow like a thundering weight. Even when the discussion had involved him, it had not been pleasant. News had come to them that Voldemort was once more on a killing spree, slaughtering dozens of witches and wizards. He had used their bodies as examples of what happened to those that defied him by painting the building that had been stormed with their blood, stringing their innards like streamers decorating the doors and windows, and staking their heads on the fence. Harry considered himself very lucky that he was not the Order member on patrol when the scene was discovered because even looking at the grotesque photographs had agitated his stomach. From the paling of the faces that had surrounded him during the news update, he suspected he was not the only one who had retired to his room with no intention of sleeping as the horrific images still danced in his mind.

The only miniscule consolation that came from this was the fact that the Muggles were now on alert for a notorious serial killer, and had taken precautions to protect themselves and their community. While their plans were incredibly flimsy against the power of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, it was certainly better than having no plans at all. Ever since the collapse of the Ministry of Magic, there had been no regular defense, no law and order in any community, wizardry and Muggle alike. Even if their use of guns was mostly useless against magic, Harry was somewhat glad that the defenseless folks had had some sort of protection, no matter how fragile.

His dark musings were brought to a sudden halt as the door to the room opened, revealing Draco in full patrol regalia. Harry had thanked his lucky stars that Draco had been out on patrol when the discussion had been carried out, wanting to spare the blond the horrors that he had been forced to see. While Draco would probably have not been as affected by it as Harry had, certainly not enough to be plagued by nightmares the way Harry was sure he himself would be, Draco had a sense of paranoia that certainly did not need to be further heightened. However, gazing upon the ghostly pallid features that looked nearly translucent, grey pupils which were dilated, lips pressed tightly together in a thin line and the ramrod stiff but still trembling body, Harry knew that whatever news which had been delivered personally to Draco had been even worse. Since the blond made no move to enter the room, his unseeing gaze staring frighteningly through Harry, the black-haired boy nudge Draco's mind asking mental permission to use Legilimency.

Terrifyingly, Harry had no idea if Draco had indeed acquiesced to his question because the blond's usually strong mental shields simply melted away under Harry's gentle prodding. There was nothing, no physical sign or movement, to indicate if Draco had even registered the foreign presence in his distress. As Harry sifted through the memories, what he found sickened him, instantaneously sending his stomach into violent flip flops, his mouth tasting of bile. Along with the mass-murder that Harry had known about, Voldemort had also struck somewhere else. A safe house had been completely demolished, burned to the ground, its premises littered with corpses that were charred to the bone – the safe house that guarded the lives of the pureblood children that had defied their families. It took all Harry's nerve to not violently break the mental contact when he recognized one of the corpses that stood out so vividly in Draco's memory. Pansy Parkinson, Draco's female confidante, childhood friend and arranged fiancée, stared back at him, her wide eyes dead of life, her features pulled into a horrific mask of a torturous scream – she had been burnt alive.

Gently breaking the contact, no matter how much his body screamed at him to wrench himself away from the devastation, Harry steeled himself as he reached out to tenderly grasp Draco by the shoulders. Now was not his time to break down. Now was not his time for hysterical rage. Now was not his time to despair. Draco needed him.

Gazing into steel grey eyes that were deadened, Harry forced the numb blond to focus on him. 'Have you cried?'

The words seemed to break through the haze that had cloaked Draco, unfreezing the ice that had held him captive. His minute trembling increased, his body now shaking with a force that threatened to tear him apart. Tears welled up in his eyes, and for the first time ever, he gave in to the infinite despair that clawed at his heart and reached for his soul.

As Draco crumpled into his arms, completely losing himself in Harry's embrace, the Harry clutched the blond desperately to him, cradling him and nearly crushing him. As his arms encircled the slender body of his friend, he could feel the lean planes that spoke of strength and masculinity yet the delicate edges of aristocracy that sparked of the deepest desire in Harry to protect the beautifully vulnerable creature in his arms. A near silent whimper escaped his own lips as his ears caught the pained sobs that poured from Draco, hot tears dampening Harry's neck as the blond instinctively tucked his head under Harry's head in search of comfort.

Holding the blond so closely that they were completely intertwine, Harry couldn't help but wonder: when had Draco seemed so small? Intellectually, he had known that his partner was of a more slender build than him, deftly formed muscles like that of a streamlined swimmer, in contrast to the dark-haired boy's own burlier body. Draco's near constant slouching as a younger child had hindered his growth, and even though the blond was over six feet tall, Harry had recently gained two or three inches over him. Yet, Draco's maturity, cynical wisdom and cool-headedness always made Harry feel like it was Harry that was the child.

A tremble shook the body he held, prompting Harry to rub soothing circles over the slightly heaving back. A wry smile tugged at his lips despite the ache in his heart in empathy of his partner's pain. Even now, he was only doing what Draco had been doing for him all this while. His every action and every reaction, though stemmed from his own desire to comfort and protect, were sure and learned because these were the very gestures he had been soothed by as Draco rocked him through his tears and fears.

Most had assumed that because of his spoilt upbringing before everything was snatched from him, Draco would be the one who was emotionally weaker, the one who would give in to tears more often, the one who would need silent support as he struggled. However, Harry knew better. It was Draco's aristocratic upbringing of deceit, politics and manipulation that had taught the blond to build mental shields that were nearly thoroughly impenetrable, completely unblemished with holes and cracks the way that Harry's shields were. His calculating and taciturn nature, and his ability to be calm even when his entire universe had shattered, aided him in being more emotionally equipped to deal with the worst cards that fate dealt him.

In contrast, Harry, who was more emotionally involved in nature, who had been coddled and protected, had often felt completely trapped by the way life had weaved its web of deceit and death around him, binding him. Before he had met Draco, become close to his partner, Harry had often maintained a façade of reticence, a mask of coolness when it came to dealing with his problems. When it all became too much, that flimsy excuse of a shield would shatter, and his rage would burst forth like a bubbling volcano, wild and uncontrollable. After the blond had mockingly called him on it, on the way that he had lied to himself through his actions, Harry had flown into an unholy tantrum, screaming, insulting and shrieking spells at Draco. Normally, this was the point where the people around him would back down, attempt to placate him or simply give in and allow him to go his own way. However, Draco had done what nobody had ever done before.

He had fought back. Draco Malfoy, the one they called the cowardly Slytherin snake, had fought back tooth and nail, giving as good as he got. With every calculating move, he disabled Harry's wild actions. With every cool word, he snuffed out Harry's fiery insults. And with every pointed gaze from those steel grey eyes, he struck Harry with the truth like a physical blow. With a chuckle, the boy savior recalled other times when those same eyes, with that same intense gaze, had revealed a different heat that burned within Harry's body.

However, his thoughts were thwarted as he realized that Draco had fallen asleep in his arms, his usually light body becoming an unexpected deadweight. Deciding against using a levitation spell, he instead carefully positioned his arms under Draco's knees and cautiously cradled the blond, slightly awkward as his peacefully sleeping partner was nearly as tall as himself. A stray thought called out to him that Draco was lighter than a boy his height and age should have been, noting that this loss of weight could have been the result of self-starvation over the past few days as Draco buried himself in stress and work. Frowning, Harry gently laid the precious bundle on the bed, using a wandless spell to change Draco into more comfortable and suitable clothing for sleep, before tenderly tucking the blond in. When Draco awoke, Harry would see to it that he ate something hardy even if he had to tie him to the bed with Hermione and Mrs. Weasley force feeding the blond. Settling himself in the armchair beside the bed, Harry's eyes never left the peaceful expression that adorned the slumbering boy's face, his hand interlocking his fingers with Draco's. Watching the blond like this brought back other treasured memories of stolen moments in times when peace seemed woefully strained. Unconsciously matching his breathing to that of Draco's, Harry allowed his thoughts to wander again as relaxation settled into his body.

That first fight when Harry had first discovered of Draco's defection to the Light, where Draco and Harry had seriously sought to harm each other had been the turning point of Harry's life. When they had both panted in its aftermath, breathless from having spent so much of their strength trying to hurt each other, Professor McGonagall had stormed in and rewarded the both of them with detention for attempted murder. It was in the heavy yet charged silence of detention that Draco's words had seeped into Harry's brains, and Harry had come to a realization.

His inability of coping with coddling came from the unwillingness to render himself completely vulnerable in another person's care, that it was the ignorance which Harry was most uncomfortable with and not with the actual act of protection itself. Somewhere along the way, his own need to protect, his own desire to defend, had morphed into a hero-complex that had become ingrained in his character, a defense mechanism that had helped him cope with the deaths that had surrounded him. His own reasoning had been warped, his mantra telling him over and over again that if he did not protect his loved ones, they would die protecting him; that he would rather die than live through another death. He needed to be in control whenever he could because it seemed like control was always being snatched forcefully away from him. The coddling spawning ignorance and the deaths were tangible proofs of his inability to control his situations, and he had reacted the only way he could: rebel and defend, stubbornly striking out on his own in reckless self-sacrifice. Nobody had told him in no uncertain terms that his selfless courage was in fact selfish cowardice; that his lone wolf act of protecting his friends was in reality his own protection against his fear of loss. Nobody had told him because they were too busy protecting him, him and his sensibilities. It took one he considered an enemy to unravel the ball of confusion within him that had weighed him down and exploded into rage whenever it became too much. It took one he considered a foe to break him free from the bondage that his own defense had chained him into.

That was the reason why he had approached Draco with a friendly hand, and the offer to start anew. Draco was someone who knew the terrible sides of Harry, the sides that Harry had often hidden because he feared his friends' judgments. Draco was someone who had seen through Harry's facades to the trembling boy that only wanted to run and hide, to close his eyes and lose himself to sweet dreams. Draco had no expectations of heroism, instead scoffing at Harry's endless escapades of valor. Draco would not coddle Harry, would not defend him at the cost of his own life, would not allow him to give in to his rage. Draco would allow Harry to simply be Harry. That was why only the blond had ever seen him sob and wail, only the blond had been there to cradle him and soothe him, not with false words of empty comfort but with firm hope in times of despair. It was with Draco that Harry would let himself go completely, willingly rendering himself vulnerable in the confidence that the blond would protect him yet still remain alive because Draco was strong enough to protect them both. Draco's calculative moves to preserve his own life was a refreshing contrast to the open sacrifices that others always made when it came to protecting Harry. It reassured Harry that Draco would always place his own life above Harry's because the Slytherin was confident that the one dubbed Savior of the Wizarding World could protect himself.

The stability of Draco's presence was a welcome balm to the shakiness of Harry's stormy life, and it had been his lifeline when he had been drowning. Everyone had commented on the change in Harry after he had befriended the blond. Many had complimented him on his noble gesture of reaching out to the one person everyone isolated and abhorred, not knowing that his noble gesture was nothing more than a selfish bid for a kind of protection that he could accept without qualms from the only person he knew who could give it. His close loved ones looked upon him with pride in his growing maturity of learning to deal with difficult situations calmly without bursting into emotional rage the way he once did, oblivious to the fact that it was Draco he would storm at, the firm touch of the blond cooling his rage, the strong voice and words reducing him instead to a shaking ball of emotions that would pour out in hot tears instead of broiling anger. Everyone had called him brave, including Draco who had once admitted that he admired Harry's ability to cry when Harry was overwhelmed, but it was a secret he kept, even from Draco, that his apparent courage stemmed not from his own strength but from Draco's support, the very same person he admired for the Slytherin's ability to look at every situation objectively instead of being bogged down by emotion, and to fight back with dogged determination instead of being dragged down by it – both traits which Harry knew that he lacked in spades. That was why Draco never cried, not because he was bottling everything up in a pathetic attempt to deal with them, but because he often dealt with his troubles before tears even had the chance of being formed.

And, that was the very reason why Harry had been terrified yet strangely fulfilled when Draco had trembled in front of him, recognizing the bodily reactions of impending tears. That was why he had prompted Draco to cry because for the first time, Draco's strength had waned in the face of continuous and overwhelming stress. For once, Harry wanted to be the one relied upon instead because he wanted to see Draco vulnerable, wanted to know that Draco trusted Harry the same way that Harry explicitly trusted him. That foreign desire of wanting, needing his loved one to be vulnerable, welled up so quickly in Harry that he had given in to it without a second thought.

Now though, the thought was pondered on as he gazed at the slumbering blond, swiftly soothing away the crinkles that were on the verge of deepening, signifying disturbed dreams. When Ron, Hermione and him had fought together side by side and back to back, he often desperately needed to see that they were invulnerable, that they were strong, that they could defend themselves. Even though he would throw himself before them as a shield, he needed the reassurance that they would still be fine without him. However, it was seeing the unexpected vulnerability in Draco that had grounded Harry in more ways than he could count, and made him feel stunningly whole and complete. From the moment he had embraced the blond, Harry had felt the intrinsic desire to protect him, a need that was simultaneously so familiar yet so foreign. He had always needed to protect his loved ones, wanting to hold on to them so he would not lose them. Yet, with Draco it was different. Sure, he wanted to protect Draco because he did not want to lose the blond, but there was something deeper, something more intangible that had fueled his intense want to tuck the blond away from all the demons of the world.

With Hermione and Ron, he had protected them because he did not want to lose them. With Draco, he had protected him because he wanted Draco to stay with him. Hermione and Ron had always counted on Harry to protect them, to be the strong one in stormy weather, and in many ways, they needed Harry to protect them. On the other hand, Draco neither needed nor wanted Harry to protect him, preferring to deal with problems his own way. Draco was Harry's equal, using manipulative intellect and cruel cunning where Harry used raw force and power. With Hermione and Ron, Harry's desperate desire to protect them was always mixed with an underlying sense of obligation. After all, they had counted on him, and despite Hermione's formidable intellect and collection of spells, despite Ron's strategic tactics and superb planning, there was always a niggling doubt that they would lose without him. His defense of his friends was always tainted by a fear that he would lose them if he did not hold on to them; a stain of guilty relief that blemished his otherwise blissful success. They were his friends, his obligation; how could he fail them?

However, with Draco, it was pure want that made Harry put his life on the line for the blond. His defense of Draco stemmed from wanting to be with Draco and wanting in return for Draco to be with him, creating a fulfilling contentment and bliss that was untainted by any dark emotion. With Draco, the fear of loss was outweighed by the simple joy of being together, making him swell with a sense of wonderment at the continual presence of the blond in his life. After all, both the Slytherin and Harry had paths that had been laid before them, and were free to choose whatever path they wanted to undertake, yet both had chosen to traverse the roads not taken that closely linked them. When his friends survived, he often felt lucky, a small mercy that spared him additional guilt and pain, but when Draco survived, he felt as if he had been gifted with the blond's presence in his life, a reward that he treasured which added leaps and bounds to his happiness.

And, he couldn't help but wonder. Why were things so different with Draco? What made Harry want things so different when it came to the blond? What had changed Harry so? Harry contemplated their blossoming friendship, their deepening relationship, their increasing intimacy. The thunderous realization struck him like a flash of blinding lightning on a stormy night. His hold on Draco's hand tightening, Harry's emerald eyes glowed with a flame that was so fiery yet so gentle, his voice filled with questioning bewilderment yet firm conviction. He had never thought that he would say these words, never dreamed that he would come to understand this foreign emotion that had long escaped him, the same emotion he had cursed bitterly because it had torn away his family, his friends. The same emotion that now sounded so sweet when it broke through the silence of the room, flowing from his lips with surprising ease.

'I love you.'

Harry Potter did not just like Draco Malfoy, did not just trust him, did not just want him, did not just need him.

Harry Potter had fallen in love with him.


End file.
